


loving him (was never enough)

by noctiphany



Series: Fruit Punch Lips/Tar Black Soul [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, M/M, Multi, Underage pairing not main pairing, dysfunctional af found family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 18:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19278538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/noctiphany
Summary: This man is a killer. He can see it in his eyes, in the way he holds his blade. Dick could’ve died right here tonight and Bruce would've had no idea.





	loving him (was never enough)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarCityRebels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarCityRebels/gifts).



> Fic commission for starcityrebels. Hope you enjoy it, bb!

“I need a specific job handled a very specific way,” Bruce says, pulling a card from the rolodex on his desk. Dick can’t believe he still _has_ something called a rolodex when he has a phone right there next to him, but whatever. Bruce is old school.

“Why can’t I do it?” It’s been a while since Bruce has let him really get his hands dirty and he has to admit, he misses it a little.

“Because,” Bruce answer curtly. “We’re outsourcing this one. Call the number on the card. Wire the money. Set up a meeting.”

“Send the money before?”

“He’s good for it,” Bruce says. “And if he’s not, he knows I’ll find him.

  


: : :  


  


Dick calls the number, but it goes straight to voicemail, so he hangs up. He messes around on the playstation with Jason for an hour or so, then when he gets tired of letting Jason win, he tries again. This time, someone answers the phone. He sounds sort of old-ish, but Dick can’t really tell from just over the phone. He’s also short and to the point, just like Bruce is. He gives Dick the information for his bank account so he can wire the money, then tells Dick what time he’ll show up to meet with them.  


The whole conversation lasted about ten minutes and it felt like the guy on the other end, the guy working for _them,_ had been the one calling the shots. Dick doesn’t like it. Not one bit.

  


: : :

  


"I still don’t see why we have to get someone else,” Dick says over dinner. “Whatever it is, I can take care of it. I’ll be careful, Bruce. You’re the one that taught me, you know I can --”

Bruce looks up from his plate, raises his eyebrows at Dick, and Dick shuts up. He knows that look by now. It looks threatening as hell, but mostly it just tells Dick that nothing he says is going to change Bruce’s mind and if he keeps talking he’s just going to get ignored. Not that that’s any different than usual, but whatever.

“I just don’t like him,” Dick grumbles and pushes the vegetables around on his plate. Bruce snorts.

“You spoke to him for five minutes over the phone. How could you possibly even have an opinion on him?”

“I just do,” Dick shrugs. “And I don’t like him.”

About that time Jason walks in with a cherry popsicle and sits down in the chair between Dick and Bruce, pulling his feet under him. “Don’t like who?”

“Jay,” Bruce says. “It’s dinnertime. You should eat some dinner.”

“Don’t like _who,_ ” Jason pokes at Dick, ignoring Bruce completely. “It’s me, isn’t it? Listen, it’s not my fault your iPad fell off the bed and --”

“My iPad _what_ ,” Dick snaps. “Haven’t I fucking _told_ you not to --”

“ _Language,_ ” Bruce admonishes him. “We’re at the goddamn dinner table.”

“Language, B,” Jay giggles, slurping on his popsicle and nudging his foot against Bruce’s leg under the table.  

Bruce just sighs and shakes his head, but Dick can see the smile that twitches in the corner of his mouth. A smile for Jay, always. Never for him. Only disappointment and disapproval for him.

“You’re buying me a new iPad,” Dick says pointedly to Jason before he leaves the room, knowing good and well that Jason will just use Bruce’s credit card to pay for it anyway.

  


: : :

  


Dick sits in on the meeting the same he does with all of Bruce’s meetings. Bruce likes to have him in there to keep an eye on people, but also to learn. One day, this could all be Dick’s. Dick doesn't think he wants that, really, but then he doesn’t even usually know what he wants to eat for breakfast, so he tries not to think about it too much.

This meeting feels a lot different than the others. The man Bruce is doing business with this time isn’t afraid of him at all, Dick can tell. He’s comfortable in the room, not intimidated. He reclines in his chair, spreads his legs a little. Takes the scotch when Bruce offers it to him. There’s also a familiarity between the two of them, as if Bruce has known him for a while.

“Slade,” Bruce says, using the man’s name, apparently. “This is Dick Grayson. I don’t believe the two of you have ever met.”

“I don’t believe we have,” Slade says. “Mouth like that, I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered.”

Slade leers at him and Dick puts on his best poker face, staring him down until the man just chuckles and turns back to Bruce.

“Anyway,” he says. “Let’s get down to business. Who, when, where.”

“Of course,” Bruce says, pulling out an envelope and sliding it across the table. As Slade opens it, he picks his glass of scotch up and takes another sip.

“A cop,” Slade says, folding the piece of paper and putting it back in the envelope. “You know that’s going to cost you extra.”

“If you check the bank account you gave Dick, you’ll find that all of that was already taken into consideration,” Bruce says smoothly, but Dick’s thoughts are racing. Bruce wants to take out a _cop?_ That’s so dangerous, even for him. And -- and there was this girl he had dated for a while, her Dad was a cop. Bruce hated him, hated that Dick was talking to his daughter, hated everything to do with it.

“Bruce, who --”

“Dick,” Bruce says, interrupting him. “Go make sure Jason is getting ready for the gala we’re attending tonight in the city.”

“But I --”

“Dick,” Bruce says, setting his jaw and lifting his brows. “ _Go._ ”

Dick takes one last look at the man sitting across from Bruce, smirking now, and huffs. He knew he didn’t like him.

  


: : :

  


“No,” Dick says, pulling Jason’s tie out from around his collar entirely. “It’s easier if you do it like this.”  


He helps Jason knot the tie, then helps him make his hair look less chaotic, sprays a little bit of cologne on him.

“You look nice,” he says. “Bruce is going to want to show you off to everyone.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, just chews on his bottom lip. Dick can tell he’s nervous, but he doesn’t have any reason to be. He’s gorgeous and charming; he’ll be the best arm candy in the place.

“Do you remember all the rules we went over?”

“Like, forks and stuff?” Jason asks and Dick grins.

“Yeah, the forks and stuff. And don’t put your elbows on the table, don’t raise your voice, don’t talk like --”

“I hate this shit,” Jason pouts and tugs at the tie around his neck. “I hate suits and I hate ties and I hate stuffy rich people.”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “Me too. But it’ll be fun. There’ll be lots of food and cake and stuff. I’ll be here when you get back and you can tell me all about it, cool?”

“Cool,” Jason says, giving Dick a quick hug before he leaves to finish getting ready.

Dick remembers the first gala he went to with Bruce. They used the same cologne, the same aftershave. Bruce bought him a fancy suit to wear, taught him how to put on his tie. The only difference was Dick was there as security and Jay. Well. Jay’s there for something else entirely.

  


: : :  


  


While Bruce and Jason are gone to the gala that night, Dick pulls a favor from a friend and tracks down the man that Bruce had had the meeting with earlier. He just -- he needs to know.  


Dick finds out which hotel he’s staying in and as soon as he manages to break into the penthouse, he’s pushed against the wall with a blade against his throat so close he can feel the skin tear a bit.

“What the fuck,” Slade mutters, pulling back an inch or so, but still holding the knife at Dick’s throat. “I don’t know how you found me and normally I’d just kill you, but since I am working for your boss I’ll make an exception this time. What the hell are you doing here, kid?”

Dick wants to say he doesn’t believe all the posturing and bravado, but the cold pit in his stomach disagrees. This man is a killer. He can see it in his eyes, in the way he holds his blade. Dick could’ve died right here tonight, right beneath this knife, could’ve bled out in the penthouse floor of The Four Seasons. It probably shouldn’t have his pulse racing the way it is, but he’s long since stopped analyzing the way he reacts to disturbing situations. It never ends well.

“Who did Bruce hire you to kill?” Dick struggles to ask, afraid his jugular might get pierced if he swallows too hard.

Slade’s brows knit together and finally, he takes the knife away and sheathes it. “What’s it to you?”

Dick shrugs. “I just want to know.”

“Bullshit,” Slade says. “What’s the deal? I noticed how your boss was avoiding letting you in on it, so spill. You got the hots for the old commissioner? He your sugar daddy or --”

“Commissioner Gordon?” Dick recoils visibly. “Ew, god! No! No.”

Slade laughs. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” Dick hisses. “I dated his daughter once --”

“Oh, I bet Wayne just loved that.”

Dick glares at him. “I don’t want you to kill him.”

Slade just rolls his eyes. “He’s already dead, kid.”

Dick’s shoulders slump. He’s too late. Dammit.

_Damn it._

It’s not right. He doesn’t understand why Bruce had to do it, why he couldn’t have just -- It’s not that he gave a shit about Gordon, it’s just that he can’t stop thinking about Barbara. How he’d broken her heart, treated her like shit so she would forget about him, per Bruce’s orders. And now she’s suffering again, because of Bruce.

And because of Slade.

Dick starts throwing punches because it’s the only thing he knows to do. He’s not good at managing his emotions. This is the only thing Bruce ever taught him: violence. He’s good, he was trained by Bruce, after all, but Slade is just as good or better. He dodges every punch Dick throws, but Dick just keeps on trying. He needs this. It’s the only way he knows to let it all out. They go at it for God knows how long, knocking over tables and lamps, throwing punches and jabs, until Slade knocks him to the floor with a well timed leg sweep and pins him.

They’re both panting.

They’re both hard.

“After you left the room,” Slade says, breath hot and humid in Dick’s face. “Wayne threatened to castrate me if I laid so much as a finger on you. Seems to think you belong to him. Do you?”

Rage boils inside of Dick’s chest. How dare he. How _dare_ Bruce act that way when he never even, when he doesn’t _ever --_

“Maybe,” Dick says. “Would it matter either way?”

Slade just grins down at him, sharp, like a predatory closing in on its prey. “You tell me.”

  


: : :  


  


After taking Dick apart forever on three of his fingers, Slade fucks him on the couch, hand tight around Dick’s throat as he pounds into him.  


“Fuck, you’re tight,” he says. “You weren’t kidding about Wayne never tapping it, huh?”

“Shut up,” Dick groans. “Just shut up and f-fuck me.”

“Oh boy,” Slade laughs, even as he tightens his grip and changes the angle a bit so he can go deeper. “I wasn’t sure before, what you two were, but now I get it.”

Dick moans shamelessly as Slade rams into his prostate, arches his back and his neck, groaning again when Slade sinks his teeth into the side of it.

“It’s okay, pretty boy,” he murmurs next to Dick’s ear, reaching down to wrap his fingers around Dick’s cock. “You can call me Daddy if you want to.”

“ _Fuck,”_ Dick gasps, hips stuttering. He almost comes -- almost, but Slade backs off right before he does, and he thinks this is what going insane feels like. “No, god, _please._ ”

“You know you want to,” Slade says, ignoring his pleas. “You’ve got Daddy Issues written all over you, kid. C’’mon, you’ll feel so much better if you just say it.”

“You’re so -- you’re such a --” Dick groans as Slade changes their position, rolling himself onto his back, making Dick put his hands out to prop himself up as Slade starts to bounce him on his dick.

“Yeah?” Slade grins. “I’m so what, kid? Giving you what Wayne never would? Fucking you so deep you can feel me in your fucking lungs? Driving you crazy with how bad you want to come?”

“Please,” Dick sobs, trembling. He’s so close. He can already fill it swelling inside of him, but he knows that if Slade stops for even a second that he'll have to start all over again. He _can't_.

"You wanna come, baby?" Slade murmurs next to his ear, nipping it with his teeth. "All you gotta do is ask."

"Please," Dick says, voice as shaky as his legs. "Please let me come…Daddy."

"Oh shit, that's good," Slade growls out and picks up his pace, grabbing Dick's hips and railing him hard and deep and fast, punching moans and cries straight out of Dick's mouth as he slams his cock against his prostate again and again.

" _Daddy_ ," Dick moans again, body going limp, just letting Slade fuck into him like something to be used, like he's just a hole. "Feels so good, feels so - _\- god - - "_

"Yeah?" Slade growls. "You like that, gorgeous? You ready for me to fill you up and send you back home to the bossman all filthy with my come?"

Dick thinks about walking into the manor still smelling like sex and Slade, his come still dripping out of him, and with one more thrust from Slade he's coming, shooting thick, white stripes of it up his chest and making a mess all over his stomach.

"Fuck," Slade grunts, feeling Dick tighten and spasm around him. "You want it?"

Blissed out and sated, riding the high from his orgasm, the words come out soft and natural, genuine. "Yes, Daddy," Dick sighs, laying his head back against Slade's shoulder as he spills inside of him.

  


: : :  


  


"Where were you tonight," Bruce's voice comes from the corner of the dark room when Dick lets himself back in the house.  


"Uh, out? None of your business?"

A beat. Dick's hands are shaking.

"Are you drunk?"

Dick laughs. "Again, none of your fucking -"

"Speaking of fucking," Bruce says coolly. "Who was it?"

About that time, the door to Bruce's room opens and Dick watches Jay stumble across the hall to the bathroom.

"I dunno, Bruce," he says. "Who were _you_ fucking?"

The dead silence is all the answer Dick needs. But before Dick reaches his bedroom Bruce stops him again.

"He's dangerous, Dick," he says. "He's not a good man."

"Yeah well," Dick mutters before shutting the door behind him, "apparently I have a type."


End file.
